Ranching for Sylvia Part 22

"Yes," said George; "it's a bullet hole."

The surprise of the others was obvious.

"I think it's a hint," George explained. "We'll try to get him on his feet."

They succeeded, and when the beast had been led into a stall, George turned to Hardie.

"As you said you wouldn't stay the night, would you mind starting for the settlement now? The livery stable fellow is said to be clever at veterinary work; you might send him out, and mail a note I'll give you to the police."

Hardie professed his willingness to be of service, and on getting into his buggy said, with some hesitation:

"I'm afraid you're right in your suspicions, and I'm particularly sorry. In a way, I'm responsible for this."

George smiled, rather grimly.

"One can't go into a fight without getting hurt; and we haven't come to the end of it yet. This affair won't cost you my support."

The clergyman's eyes sparkled as he held out his hand.

"I never imagined it--you have my sympathy, Mr. Lansing. It would give me the greatest pleasure to see the cowardly brute who fired that shot brought to justice."

He drove away, and George went moodily back to the house with Edgar.

"That's a man who has had to choose between his duty and his interest,"

George said; "but just now we have other things to think about. It's a pity I can't get the bullet out until help arrives."

The livery man turned up on the following day and succeeded in extracting it; and Flett made his appearance the morning after. He examined the wounded animal.

"It may have been done by accident; but, if so, it's curious the beast should have been hit close to a place where it would have killed him,"

he remarked.

"What's your private opinion?" George asked.

The constable smiled.

"As we haven't gone very far yet, I'll reserve it." He took up the bullet. "Winchester or Marlin; usual caliber; nothing to be made of that. Now let's go and take a look at the place where the shot was fired."

They traced back the path of the wounded beast from the spot where Grierson had found it, by the red splashes that here and there stained the short gra.s.s of the unfenced prairie. At last they stopped where the ground was broken by a few low sandy ridges sprinkled with small birches and poplars, and Flett pointed to the mark of hoofs in a strip of almost bare, light soil.

"This is where he was. .h.i.t," he said. "You can see how he started off, going as hard as he could. Next, we've got to find the spot the man fired from."

It proved difficult. The dry gra.s.s revealed nothing, and they vainly searched several of the neighboring hillocks, where it grew less thickly. Scorching sunshine beat down on them and a strong breeze blew the sand about. At length Flett pointed to a few half-obliterated footprints on the bare summit of a small rise.

"The fellow stopped here with his feet well apart. He'd stand like that while he put up his gun. Sit down and smoke while I copy these marks."

He proceeded to do so carefully, having brought some paper from the homestead.

"Have you any reason for thinking it was a standing shot he took?"

George asked.

"I haven't; I wish I had. Quite a lot depends upon his position."

George nodded.

"So it struck me. We'll look round for some more conclusive signs when you have finished."

Before this happened. Flora Grant rode up.

"I was going back from Forster's when I noticed you moving about the hills," she explained. "I made this round to find out what you were doing."

George told her, and her sympathy was obvious.

"I'm very sorry; but my father warned you," she said. "I'm afraid you're finding this an expensive campaign."

"I can put up with it, so long as I have my friends' support."

"I think you can count on that," she smiled. "But what is Flett's theory?"

"If he has one, he's clever at hiding it," Edgar broke in; "but I'm doubtful. In my opinion, he knows the value of the professional air of mystery."

"When I see any use in it, I can talk," retorted Flett. "What's your notion, Mr. Lansing? You don't agree that the fellow shot your beast from here?"

"No," answered George. "Of course, there are only two explanations of the thing, and the first is that it was an accident. In that case, the fellow must have been out after antelope or cranes."

"There's an objection: it's close season; though I wouldn't count too much on that. You farmers aren't particular when there's n.o.body around. Now, it's possible that a man who'd been creeping up on an antelope would work in behind this rise and take a quick shot, standing, when he reached the top of it. If so, I guess he'd have his eyes only on what he was firing at. Suppose he missed, and your beast happened to be in line with him?"

Flora smiled.

"It's not convincing, Mr. Flett. Seen from here, the bull would be in the open, conspicuous against white gra.s.s and sand."

"I didn't say the thing was likely. Won't you go on, Mr. Lansing?"

"The other explanation is that the fellow meant to kill or mark the bull; the place where it was. .h.i.t points to the former. If that was his intention, he'd lie down or kneel to get a steadier aim. We had better look for the spot."

They spent some time before Flett thought he had found it.

"Somebody lay down here, and the bull would be up against a background of poplar scrub," he said. "I'll measure off the distance and make a plan."

He counted his paces, and had set to work with his notebook, when Flora interrupted.

"Wouldn't a sketch be better? Give me a sheet of paper; and has anybody another pencil?"

George gave her one, and after walking up and down and standing for a few moments on a low mound, she chose a position and began the sketch.

It was soon finished, but it depicted the scene with distinctness, with the bull standing in the open a little to one side of the clump of scrub. George started as he saw that she had roughly indicated the figure of a man lying upon the little mound with a rifle in his hand.

It struck him that she was right.

"It's a picture," said the constable; "but why did you put that fellow yonder?"

"Come and see."